Midnight Snack
by forcedInduction
Summary: "Do you remember how nice it was, touching, skin on skin?" Hermione whispered, closing her eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**Takes place in the Nocturnal universe, during the summer at the Granger residence in Year of the Dog. This will probably be folded into that story at some point. **

**Midnight Snack**

The young lovers had settled in to Hermione's bed, talking quietly and touching one another with no small amount of affection. It was their usual night time ritual, but before she turned out the light, Hermione spoke.

"Remember when we took a shower together?" She murmured.

"I sincerely doubt I could ever forget it." Harry answered with a loving smile.

Hermione shifted her head until her and Harry's noses brushed together.

"Do you remember how nice it was, touching, skin on skin?" She whispered, closing her eyes.

"Yeah." Harry let out a shuddering breath.

"Well, I've been thinking." Hermione stopped, finding that she was suddenly out of breath. She inhaled deeply, noting that these quiet words seemed to use more air than they should. "That there's no reason for me to wear this to bed." She fingered the silk slip, her nails making a light scratching sound. "You've seen me in a bikini before. I can just wear a bra and panties."

Harry felt as though there was nothing but warm ball of lint where his brain used to be. "That makes sense." He whispered.

"Would you like that?" Hermione asked. She knew what she wanted, but she was still unsure if she should do it.

"Yeah. A lot." Harry confirmed.

Hermione suddenly pulled away and sat up, hiking the hem of her slip up to her hips. "You can take it off." She said softly, arching her back slightly and looking down into her boyfriend's green eyes.

Harry rose to his knees and moved behind the lovely witch to take her up on her amazing offer. Hermione gathered her wild hair into one hand and held it so that it wouldn't catch on the slip as it passed over her head. The raven-haired boy reached for the top of the smooth expanse of fabric, but paused as Hermione spoke again.

"Use the straps." She murmured. "Take them off."

Harry did as she'd suggested and looped a finger under each strap, slowly pulling them over her shoulders until the only thing holding the slip up was Hermione's modest bust. He carefully pulled it over her head, making sure his knuckles brushed her shoulders until he ran out of skin and the slip was completely off. He cast the shiny garment aside, and drank in the beauty he'd uncovered.

Hermione had scooted over slightly and was once again supine, with her hair fanned over the pillow beneath her. Her pale body positively gleamed, bathed in the dim, orange light of her bedside lamp.

Unable to help himself, Harry straddled Hermione's waist and lowered himself over her, trying not to rest any weight on her, yet doing his best to eliminate any space between them. He kissed her with urgency, knowing that to do anything else would be an awful waste. His hunger for Hermione's body reminded him of the urge to step outside and inhale deeply during a storm, or the actual hunger and raw need he felt when allowed food after a day of Dursley-mandated starvation. They were strong and base desires that seemed to transcend words, yet he found his desire for Hermione easily surpassed them.

Harry was hungry, and he aimed to dine on the lithe goddess beneath him.

His quest for sustenance began at the corner of Hermione's lips. From there, he trailed kisses beneath her jawline, causing her to throw her head back, exposing the exceedingly soft flesh of her slender neck. Harry kissed and bit lightly at the sinewy muscles beneath the velvety flesh, blowing hot, slow breaths onto the damp skin. He then surprised Hermione with a sudden change in direction, moving up where he licked and lightly sucked her earlobe. "How are you so good at that?" Hermione demanded shakily.

"I learned when you did it to me the other night. You're a good teacher." He whispered. The slightly incoherent witch both heard and felt the rattle of Harry's fiery breath in her ear, the sensation of which made her shudder with delight and arch her back involuntarily.

Harry felt the change in her posture through his right arm, which he'd been using to caress her neck and the shell of her other ear. He drew back slightly between bites and looked down, noticing the enticing, bra-encased flesh straining for the ceiling. He changed course, trailing kisses downward, pausing on the sensitive spot directly below her ear, drawing audible cries of pleasure, ultimately arriving at her collarbone. He moved lower, tracing a path along the inside of the bra strap, down, down, and along the lacy stuff at the top of the cup.

Hermione knew this journey had a logical progression. On the one hand, removing the obstacle from Harry's path would be the most sexual thing they'd ever done (while fully conscious). On the other hand, it wouldn't really hurt anything, would it? Her mind was made up. She had to feel Harry's lips on her breasts, unimpeded by the silly bra she'd only worn because she knew she'd take the slip off. She sat up and reached behind her back, unhooking the annoyance. Harry reacted with surprise, and before she could lift the bra off of her chest, he placed a hand over hers, his eyes conveying his concern.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yes, Harry, I'm sure." She said, leaning in to kiss him roughly before drawing back and removing the bra completely. She now lay before her boyfriend, bare from the waist up. Harry was momentarily entranced – it was the first set of breasts he'd seen in person, and he was not surprised to find that they were beautiful, especially since they were attached to Hermione. "Kiss them, please." She softly entreated.

Harry immediately granted her wish, picking up the trail of kisses where he'd left off, quickly working his way to the dusky pink nub which topped the well-proportioned swell of her breast. He was soon kissing and licking one small areola while gently massaging the other breast with his free hand. He knew that kissing wouldn't make much sense on the nipple itself, so he carefully closed his lips around it and flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub.

Up until that point in Harry's exploration of her breasts, Hermione's eyes had been closed. When he began latched on and began licking, however, her eyes flew open and she clawed at his back, desperately needing to communicate just how wonderful he was making her feel. It was a shame his mouth was occupied, because she wanted very much to kiss him. She settled for stroking his back and whimpering in appreciation.

For some time, Hermione laid back and enjoyed the attention Harry was lavishing on her body. However, after a few minutes of breathy sighs and staring at the ceiling, Harry's technique took a giant leap forward and she went quite cross-eyed. He'd begun sucking her nipple into his mouth – past his teeth, holding it there and applying long, vigorous strokes with his tongue. The sensation was too much – she knew it wouldn't bring her satisfaction, and it was just too intense to enjoy at length. She gently took Harry's face in her hands and pulled him away, taking advantage of his confusion to flip him onto his back and straddle his hips, placing her damp arousal over Harry's boxer-clad erection.

Hermione knew she was very close to losing the will to restrain herself, but at the same time, she absolutely had to have just a bit _more_ of Harry. She was teetering on the edge of control, but the immense pleasure she was experiencing convinced her that the edge would be a safe place to dance for a time – just a little while longer.

The kinky-haired witch leaned down to kiss her green-eyed wizard, allowing her breasts to brush against his chest as she slowly rocked her hips over his cock. It felt amazing for both parties – both had their eyes closed, relishing the joyous sensations from the point of friction between them. Hermione shimmied up Harry's body slightly, positioning the tip of Harry's manhood just so, then rested her weight on him again, rocking more vigorously than before, frantically kissing and clawing at his face and neck. Harry, for his part, was also enjoying himself. He'd actually enjoyed their previous position more – just an inch or two lower made a world of difference for him, but if Hermione liked this more, he was fine with it. He grabbed her panty-clad arse in one hand, squeezing the pliable, velvety cheek with abandon. With the other hand, he massaged one of her breasts, stopping now and then to fondle her nipple.

Hermione paused in her quest for dominance in the kiss to issue a command. "Pinch it, Harry. It's alright."

Harry did as he was told, pinching and pulling gently at the nipple he'd been fondling. Hermione's response was very positive. She mewled into his mouth and ground herself more ferociously against him. She pulled away from the kiss, just a fraction of an inch. "Oh please don't stop, Harry. So close. Love you so much."

"Love you too, Mione." Harry dropped the hand that had been massaging her breast and moved it to her arse, enabling him to meet Hermione's thrusts more vigorously.

Hermione moaned and bit into Harry's shoulder – it was something she'd done lightly before, but now the force was intense enough to leave a deep bite mark, which he didn't mind at all. The slight pain of the bite compelled Harry to deliver an especially hard thrust into Hermione's cotton-covered sex, grabbing her arse roughly, sending her over the edge. With a series of keening whines and moans, she came, biting into Harry's shoulder and clamping her legs over him, trapping him as she rode out her orgasm. For a few minutes afterward, the young lovers caught their breath, kissing passionately, but without their previous urgency, feeling one another's wild heartbeats gradually slow to normal.

Harry sat up, cradling Hermione's back as she rose, still on top of him, to a sitting position. He gently placed a hand under her legs and maneuvered her onto her side so that they could spoon.

"You're amazing, Harry." Hermione let out a shuddering sigh as the warmth of Harry's smooth skin penetrated her back. "You know we can never break up, right?" Harry could hear the smile in her voice.

"Why would we do that?" He chuckled, dragging his fingernails lightly across her stomach, making the muscles beneath flutter.

"Exactly." She answered.

**I don't always know what needs to happen next in my stories, but I knew that THIS needed to happen at some point, and I needed to write it right NOW.**


	2. Chapter 2

**It looks like this story might become a dumping ground for romantic interludes. They keep falling out of my head while Year of the Dog's story arc sits in some dusty corner. 4th year though… my plans are grander by the day. **

**This occurs minutes after the first chapter.**

**Wild Growth, or Bedtime Beats**

Hermione was in a unique position when it came to her physical relationship with Harry. Due to his upbringing, Harry had no idea what couples typically did behind closed doors. This lack of knowledge coupled with Harry's habit of trusting his girlfriend implicitly (especially in matters of intimacy) enabled her to try things with him that some boys might not have agreed to.

Initially, Hermione had wondered if she was taking advantage of Harry by not telling him what society would expect of them – that his dorm mates would have laughed at him if they ever saw him sitting in her lap – but she ultimately decided that she was doing them both a favor by keeping that knowledge to herself. Harry was freer by virtue of not knowing, and she wouldn't dare take that away from him. Better to let love evolve and flourish without intervention than to stunt its growth with tradition.

Hermione, still tingling with the afterglow of her climax, lay on Harry's chest. "Harry?" She asked, confident in the request she was about to make.

The wizard felt her soft voice resonate over his chest. "Hm?" He replied, stroking her neck. He was occasionally tickled by the kinky strands of hair cascading over his chest and stomach.

"Can we switch?" She murmured, dragging her fingers over his sides, listening for the sound of his breath hitching when she found a ticklish spot.

"You want to be the pillow?" He asked. He felt her nod. "Sure." They began to move.

Both sat up, and before taking their new positions, shared a long, lazy kiss – the kind that teetered on the very edge of unconsciousness. It was purposeful, but not at all urgent. They had all the time in the world, and their movements slowed accordingly.

As they settled in once more, Hermione scooted further up the bed, and Harry further down. They turned in to one another slightly, intentionally tangling their legs together for maximum contact and stability. Hermione came to rest on her back, and as he curled around her to take his place, Harry made a stop at one of her nipples, favoring it with a lick and a kiss, drawing a gasp of pleasure from the gloriously topless witch beneath him. The thoroughly aroused wizard finally laid his head on Hermione's chest, enjoying the soft area near the upper-most part of her breast. As he stilled, he let out a slightly ragged breath.

"I can hear your heartbeat." He smiled.

"I could hear yours, too. What's it sound like?" Hermione asked. Her eyes were closed, but her lips were fixed in the biggest smile her sleepy muscles would allow as she stroked her wizard's back.

"Like a heart, I suppose." He replied with a little shrug and a chuckle. He felt a bit silly giving such a plain and obvious answer.

"Are you sure?" Hermione playfully demanded. "Listen closer."

Harry pressed his ear against her chest focused on the sound.

"Har-ry, Har-ry, Har-ry." Hermione whispered, timing her words with her own heartbeats. Harry sniffed his appreciation for her joke, which prompted Hermione to giggle. "It loves you too. It loves having you close like this. It's a simple thing, but it makes me happier than I've ever been."

"The feeling is mutual." The rumble of his voice tickled her chest. "The sound is really amazing somehow. Every time it beats, I feel more relaxed." Harry sighed. For some time, the two just lay together, feeling one another and listening to the beating of their hearts. A part of Harry (likely the one measured in inches) wanted very much to continue exploring Hermione's breasts, but he had no idea if she'd enjoy it since she'd already "finished" and didn't want to be a bother to her, so he refrained. At length, he sighed. "I love you, Mione."

"Love you too, Harry. More than you'll ever know." Hermione smiled and kissed the crown of Harry's head. Tomorrow night, she might ask to be the big spoon. And Harry would oblige.

**There's no shame in letting your lady be the big spoon sometimes. Especially if her hair is Hermione-esque. On that note, how did anyone survive married life in the 80's? Suffocation deaths must have been WAY up.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I stole from Ray Bradbury a bit this chapter. Points to the person who identifies the phrase. It's short and not obvious at all.**

Sun Worship

The light of a new day had crept over the sleeping forms of the young lovers, staining the white walls of the guest room orange and gold. Orange and gold were colors of opportunity, being the colors of a summer morning, the earliest sort of morning. Early enough that Hermione's parents were yet asleep.

Harry was accustomed to waking early; between school and Dursley-issued chores, it had always been a necessity. Now, though, it was a happier occasion which plucked him from his dreams – though Harry sometimes wondered if these moments (of which there had been many) could have been anything but dreams themselves.

This – the arse-crack of dawn – was Harry's hour of worship.

Drawing himself up into a sitting position, the raven-haired boy hunched forward slightly, resting his weight on a single fist, whereupon he drew himself up to his knees. He made a note to commission someone to design a headboard that didn't squeak – this "hunching over" bit was rubbish. He didn't quite know why he kept up this routine, uncomfortable as it was. It's not as if he didn't know where he would end up, but he still felt as if that magnificent view should be saved – postponed until the moment was right and the proper amount of passion had welled up inside him. Worship was nothing without passion, after all.

Recalling the events of last night, he mused that the view would be different today and decided to spare himself the discomfort. He began his journey, relishing the thought of what came next. Gently, so as not to wake his incomparably beautiful companion, he slipped out of the bed and padded around it to Hermione's side.

Harry knelt beside the bed, allowing Hermione's face (beset as it was by kinky locks of chocolate-colored hair) to fill his vision. Just like every morning before, she was beautiful. She was perfect.

"I love you, Mione." Harry whispered. Her only response was her continued breathing, its unchanging pace making her (bare) chest and duvet rise and fall, altering the landscape of her body, pushing certain bits of topography to prominence, and then allowing them to recede in a way that Harry always found mesmerizing.

"I know you love me too. You tell me a lot that I'll never know how much you do, and I hate to second-guess you, but I think you might have it backwards." He said with wry little grin. "You're amazing, Mione. You're what I believe in. You make me happy, just because I know you exist. And you make me even happier when you're happy yourself. I'm sad when I'm away from you, but I can still think about you when we're apart. And knowing that – knowing you're there to think about – it helps. The world's better because you're here."

Having completed his testimony, Harry began his favorite part of the ritual – the waking. He turned the covers back over her body, sucking in a ragged, hastily-silenced breath at the sight of her naked torso, and crawled into bed beside her, wrapping an arm lightly around her, drawing his face to within inches of hers. She gripped him, jostled into the final stages of sleep by his touch. She let out a little moan – a yawn too weak to escape. He brushed the hair from her eyes, tucking it gently behind her ear, somewhat tense with anticipation for – yes, there it was, the opening of an eye.

Hermione stretched luxuriously, one hand pressing into the headboard (which gave its signature inconvenient squeak) while the other slithered around Harry's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. "Morning, love." Hermione murmured. Though he felt the familiar sensation of lips on his own, he was more focused on the slightly new sensation of Hermione's bare breasts brushing against his chest. The owner of said breasts was unsurprised by this sensation, and appeared to enjoy it quite a bit judging by the little smile she wore. Harry settled back into the pillow and they lay facing each other, fingers lazily entwined between them.

"Have you been up long?" Hermione asked curiously, noting his unwavering, loving gaze and recognizing in his countenance a look of contemplation that wasn't possible for those fresh from slumber.

"No, not long." Harry replied.


	4. Chapter 4

**You guys should go see Hugo if you haven't. It was both amazing and adorable. Chloe Grace Mortez is the new Emma Watson. I found out she also played Hit Girl in _Kick-Ass_. This led to me getting hooked on Precocious Crush, a 100k+ word Kick-Ass fanfic. That was a couple of days well spent. I'm sorely tempted to write a Mindy/Dave story now, especially having written comic book scripts in the past… Anybody in favor of that? (Cough, already have an outline of a fairly epic tale, cough). **

**I'm putting a poll up in my profile to gauge interest in a _Kick-Ass_ story. Vote or review to let me know what you think. In the meantime, here's another little piece that will fit into Year of the Dog. It actually goes right before Midnight Snack.**

**Pillow Talk**

Bedtime was quickly becoming Harry Potter's favorite time of day. This was not due to fatigue or any desire to sleep – his favored it because it allowed him to spend time with Hermione. Yes, it was quite true that he spent almost every minute of every day with Hermione. They even had large amounts of time alone during the day. But when their heads hit Harry's pillow, something changed.

The darkness and quiet of the evening gave the impression that the world had drawn in around them, contracting until it contained only the room and the bed – the center of the universe. Their voices grew hushed, fervent and mirthful as they spoke mere inches from one another, almost always face to face until they were finally prepared to sleep.

They would talk for hours about anything, though it often seemed more like everything than anything. 'Everything' was the word Harry used in his head. He and his girlfriend talked about everything, and it didn't get old. Even when he had nothing to say, she spoke for him, and that was good. Her ideas and words flowed over him, and he felt their gentle weight as if they were a part of the bedding itself. He would listen, drinking in her beauty, knowing that no experience in daylight – today's or tomorrow's – could compare to this. He found Hermione so beautiful, angelic, even – a doll composed of silk and silk-like things, all slopes and curves and high-voltage eyes illuminated in the characteristic orange and black gradients from the lamp. Sometimes, Harry had to concentrate very hard on what she was saying. When he stared too hard and missed something she'd said, he'd cover himself with a wordless kiss. Hermione didn't seem to mind.

Hermione would share half-hearted worries that her parents had knowledge or suspicion of their physical intimacy. She would giggle explosively – schooling the outbursts quickly into little hisses and puffs of air in an effort to keep quiet – at Harry's conjecture on Stan's likely reaction, were he to figure out where his daughter _really_ spent her nights.

Sometimes they would read one of Hermione's many books. She would often think of a passage she'd like to share with Harry – something she'd been reminded of during the day or something that had popped into her head even as they lay in bed together – and she'd tiptoe off to her room to grab the book in question. She would then look through the book by the dim light of one of their wands – often Harry's, so as to afford her the use of both hands – and upon finding the relevant passage, would read it aloud, trying with reverence to deliver the prose the way the author would have wanted it.

Harry didn't always understand the things Hermione read to him, and even when he felt he did, he didn't always feel their impact the way Hermione did. Even so, he always enjoyed the process. Hermione's excitement at having something to share, the suspense of the journey to her room, the quiet passion of her delivery, the shimmering apprehension in her eyes when the words ran out and she looked at Harry to see his reaction. He loved all of it. He loved Hermione.

Tonight, however, was a little different.

**I also found out that Chloe played Abby in _Let__ Me __In_… so I watched that and now I've got Abby/Owen on the brain too. Hoo boy.**


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